Title: Windows of the Soul
Author(s): Fimbrethiel & Sian
Beta: Alex
Contact: Fimbrethiel@yahoo.com & Sian265@aol.com
Type: FPS AU
Fandom: LOTR
Pairing: Erestor/Gildor & Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Strong sexual situations between Males, Extreme Violence
and Graphic Images.
Disclaimer: We are shamelessly playing with Tolkien’s Elves, but we
swear it is just for fun! All the lovely Elves are the property of
the esteemed Prof. Tolkien’s estate.

Summary:  By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked to Lindon
comes... a serial killer is on the loose

A/N: Many thanks to Alex for the beta!


**********
Chapter: 10/11


Erestor drifted slowly into wakefulness. His limbs felt heavy, and
warmth surrounded him. Erestor's hand moved lazily to rub along the
golden-skinned arm that was wrapped so securely about him. Never
before could he recall feeling this safe, this peaceful. His
subconscious knew that it was not Gildor's arms around him, but it
took several moments before the events of the past eve came back to
him. Glorfindel, he remembered. Erestor's thoughts returned again
and again to the memory of the Elda touching him, making love to
him. After the first rough coupling, they had made love slowly,
taking their time to learn each other's bodies, what brought the
deepest pleasure, the neediest moans.

Taking care not to wake his lover, Erestor rolled over to face
Glorfindel, wincing slightly at the dull ache in his backside. The
blond's face was peaceful, his breathing deep and even. What was he
to do now? The evidence was still stacked against the Elda, and with
no other suspects, Erestor did not know how to clear Glorfindel's
name. No one who saw the warrior’s face relaxed and peaceful in
sleep could ever think that he was capable of harming another soul.
The innocence and golden beauty shone brightly in his repose. The
full pink lips, swollen from last night’s love play, were slightly
parted, the blue eyes vacant but as bright as summer skies.
Glorfindel’s noble features were framed by his legendary golden
mane, tossed wildly about, and disarranged by Erestor’s own hungry
hands. 

Erestor wanted nothing more than to cover those lips with his own
once more, but the sun was rising and he had responsibilities to
attend to, and needed time to sort out his feelings before facing
the Elda. Cautiously, Erestor slipped free of Glorfindel’s hold and
quietly gathered his clothes. Once dressed, he placed a tender kiss
on the sleeping Elda’s brow and crept from the room. 

Entering the hall outside Glorfindel’s room, Erestor came face to
face with Pedhrin. Erestor felt his face heat, and for the first
time in a long while, he blushed. But the guard said nothing, only
coming to attention as Erestor approached. There was one thing
Erestor could do – something that would show Glorfindel that Erestor
had spoken truly in his assurances of Glorfindel’s innocence.

“Pedhrin, I am removing the watch placed on Lord Glorfindel. Please
inform Captain Dórion that I will accept full responsibility for the
Elda’s actions from here on.” Erestor saw the indecision on
Pedhrin’s face, but he was determined to show Glorfindel that he
trusted him now, that his words had not been spoken in idle bed-play
promises. “Pedhrin, I ordered the guard, now I dismissing it. If
Dórion has any concerns, he can address them to me directly. Thank
you for your service,” Erestor said firmly.

Pedhrin bowed and bent to gather his clock and the book he had
brought to read while on guard. “Yes, my Lord Erestor,” he said
simply, before striding away. This was a matter for his Captain and
Lord Erestor to work out; he knew better than to get involved in
what was sure to be a heated battle between the two temperamental
Elves. 

Erestor took a deep breath to calm his nervous stomach.  He knew
Dórion would demand answers – answers he did not have. Erestor
doubted Dórion would want to hear his reasoning that there was no
way the Elda could have killed anyone, not and make love to Erestor
so needfully and tenderly. No, Dórion would not want to hear that at
all.

Erestor shook himself and sternly ordered his mind and body to get
moving.  That was all he needed, to be caught in his sleeping
trousers, wandering the halls. Especially halls so far from his own
chambers. Being fuel for the gossip mills was not something Erestor
had ever aspired to. 

Once back his own quarters, Erestor poured some water into the
washing bowl. He wet a cloth and added a little soap, but paused
before the cloth could touch his skin.  Glorfindel’s scent clung to
his body as if the Elda was still wrapped about him, and Erestor was
loath to lose that lingering reminder of his golden lover. Finally,
shaking his head at his own foolishness, Erestor washed. Clean
garments followed, before he turned his attention to his raven mane,
tangled and wild; it took several jaw-clenching strokes of the brush
to bring some order to his tresses.

He was just selecting a robe from the wardrobe when his door burst
open and a harried Gildor rushed in. “Where in Arda have you been?”
Gildor demanded.

Erestor raised a brow at the younger Elf’s state. He did not reply
to Gildor’s question, only asked one of his own. “What is wrong,
Gildor?” Erestor said, knowing his former lover well enough to
recognize that whatever Gildor was upset about, it did not involve
them directly.  Something dire must have occurred.

Gildor growled, frustrated.  It was clear from Erestor’s response
that no further explanation was to come. He ran a hand through his
hair. “There has been another murder, Erestor. The King is awaiting
you at the crime scene,” Gildor stated.

Erestor felt his heart clench in dread and his body trembled, but
his voice was steady as he asked, “Any idea as to the time of
death?”

Gildor looked at him strangely, but made no comment on the oddity of
the question. “Not as of yet, but it appears to have been recent,”
he responded, not noticing the breath Erestor released in relief.
It could not have been Glorfindel, this proves it…

Erestor finished dressing in silence, aware of Gildor’s looks of
suspicion on him. He felt a momentary flash of guilty panic at the
relief he felt when Gildor spoke of the recent time of death. Had he
needed this proof of Glorfindel’s innocence? Had he *truly* believed
the Elda before now? Erestor did not know. But his heart felt
lighter, as though it had needed one last bit of confirmation before
convincing itself that Glorfindel had been true in his words and his
actions.

“Let us go,” Erestor said to Gildor, following the younger Elf from
the room.
_____________________________________________________________

Senses sluggish and body still heavy with sleep, Glorfindel slowly
swam awake. His hand moved across the cold sheet next to him,
unconsciously searching for the warmth that had comforted him during
the night. Dismayed, he realized Erestor was no longer next to him.
Glorfindel rolled to his back, eyes clearing and focusing on the
ceiling of his room. Since his rebirth, Glorfindel had not slept a
complete night undisturbed. With the dark-haired Erestor by his
side, not only had he slept peacefully, but also this morn, he felt
refreshed and ready to tackle whatever the day threw his way. 

Glorfindel sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He
rose and stretched, then groaned as muscles protested their workout
of the night before. But the smile that grew across the Elda's face
was at odds with the sore muscles. Glorfindel drew his sleeping
pants over his nakedness, eyes sweeping the room, hoping for some
leftover sign of the black-haired beauty who had brought him back to
the living. But it was obvious Erestor had left some time ago. 

Glorfindel went to the door, frowning briefly at the idea the guard
outside his room might have heard their passion of the night before.
Glorfindel knew Erestor would not have liked that. But when he
opened the door, it was to be greeted by an empty hallway. No guard
was posted outside his door.

Puzzled, Glorfindel stood in the doorway for several moments, his
mind churning.  What did this mean? But then a breathtaking smile
spread across his face.  Erestor believed him! Erestor had removed
the guard because he trusted Glorfindel. That was the only answer
that made sense.

Nothing could spoil Glorfindel's jubilant mood as he went about
dressing, eager for the first time since his rebirth to greet the
day.
________________________________________________________________


Gildor led Erestor towards the guest wing of the palace rather than
the servants’ quarters, and Erestor could figure out why the High
King himself was waiting. The latest victim must be a royal guest. 

There were not as many onlookers outside this victim's room as the
first; the royal guards had learned their lesson well. Erestor
stepped through the open door. Saelbeth, sketchbook in hand, was
already diligently drawing the details of the room. Gil-Galad and
Elrond stood off to the side, conversing in a heated whisper. Both
dark heads swung in Erestor's direction as he entered the room, and
Elrond beckoned the investigator over. Gil-galad pinned Erestor with
his dark-blue gaze.  In those eyes, Erestor could see a great deal
of anger, and he mentally steeled himself for the King's ire.  Gil-
galad was generally poised, and a good and fair ruler, but when
roused, his Noldorin temper was a fearsome thing to behold.

Erestor bowed but said nothing, waiting for his King to address him
first. "Lord Erestor," Gil-galad said sharply. "The victim’s name is
– was – Arvellas.  She was in Lindon on an extended visit, and a
close friend of King Amdir of Lórien. How am I to tell him that she
was murdered?" 

Gil-galad flinched when Elrond laid a calming hand upon his arm. The
High King’s gaze burned into Erestor's. "Find this fiend and stop
this madness.  Now, Erestor," Gil-galad ordered harshly, before he
shook off Elrond's hold and left the room. Elrond gave Erestor’s
shoulder an encouraging squeeze and a sympathetic look before
following after his angry King.

Erestor sighed and ran a hand over his eyes. He shook his negatively
as Gildor came to his side with a question upon his face. Erestor
took several deep breaths, clearing his mind, so he could focus on
this victim and what needed to be done for her. 

Gildor knelt down next to the black tool bag and hunted through it
for his and Erestor's gloves. As the younger Elf turned his head to
the side to better see into the bag, Erestor's eyes fell upon
Gildor's neck. The younger Elf’s tunic slipped off his shoulder a
bit. There, bright against the Elf's pale flesh, was a large purple
bruise. Since Erestor's own body bore similar markings, Erestor knew
what it was. Erestor smirked, remembering the sounds coming from
Gildor's room the night before.

Erestor reached over and brushed a finger across the mark. Gildor's
head snapped up and his eyes locked on Erestor's. He flushed
brightly, conscious of what the older Elf saw.

"Who was the lucky Elf?" Erestor asked, his tone teasing.

Gildor's glance flew guiltily across the room, briefly landing on
Saelbeth before they flashed back up to meet Erestor's. He said
nothing, but Erestor had seen that fleeting look. His smile
broadened. "I am happy for you, Gildor," Erestor said sincerely,
faintly surprised to realize that he truly meant it.

Gildor searched Erestor's eyes, but he saw only genuine happiness
for him there. For an instant, his heart ached when he recognized
that Erestor would never be his. But as his eyes once more traveled
to the blond Elf across the room, Saelbeth looked up and their eyes
met. The young Sinda gave him a shy smile before turning back to his
sketching. Gildor’s heart lightened, and he turned to Erestor and
nodded his thanks. He understood the unspoken approval and happiness
in Erestor's eyes that Gildor had moved on. 

Teasing and light-heartedness left the pair as their attention
turned to the latest victim. The scene was an eerie mirror of the
two before. They could have been looking at the Brennil or Cuileth
crime scenes. Saelbeth handed Erestor the finished drawings before
moving to begin his inventory of the room. Gildor and Erestor moved
to the body. Erestor pushed aside the collar of the formal robe to
show Gildor and to confirm to himself the purple and red bruising
was present. 

"If Glorfindel was able to escape his guard once, there is no reason
not to think he could not have escaped again last night," Gildor
said eagerly.

Erestor's head snapped around to stare at Gildor. "Glorfindel?" he
stammered, his head reeling at hearing his lover's name.

Gildor went on, excited now that they were closing in on the Elda.
"Yes," he stated, gesturing about the room. "We should bring him in
for questioning right away. He escaped his guard once; he must have
again given Dórion's guardsmen the slip last eve. The victims are
all Telerin, Erestor. The Kinslayings are the commonality that binds
them all together. Glorfindel was present at the Kinslayings; he
probably took part in them. He has no alibi for the times of death,
and his behavior has been erratic and unpredictable. I think that is
enough to go to the High King and request an arrest warrant," Gildor
continued excitedly, ignoring Erestor's shocked and stunned eyes.

Erestor grew more aghast the longer Gildor went on, though he tried
to control his horror. The younger Elf had Glorfindel already tried
and convicted! Finally, Erestor broke. "It was not Glorfindel!" he
shouted out, his voice freezing Gildor and Saelbeth and carrying to
the onlookers in the halls.

Gildor and Saelbeth stared in amazement at their usually stoic Lord.
Never had Erestor had an outburst like this before, and they watched
in further alarm as the dark-haired Elf rose to pace furiously
around the room.

Gildor rose to confront Erestor. "How do you know? He could have
easily escaped and killed this elleth. I know it is him, Erestor,"
Gildor declared vehemently. 

Erestor spun around to face Gildor, his face twisted with fury. "It
was not him!”

Gildor stared back, undaunted. “How can you say that with such
certainty?”

“I know this because I was with him the entire night!" Erestor
bellowed.

Silence fell heavily in the room and the hall. Gildor and Saelbeth
stared open-mouthed at Erestor. Saelbeth quickly flushed and looked
away, but Gildor could not keep the hurt and disappointment from
showing. Erestor locked eyes with Gildor and shook his head, forcing
himself to calm. "He is not the killer, Gildor. Glorfindel is
innocent," Erestor said softly.

In the hall, outside the victim's room, one pair of eyes narrowed.
So, the Elda has a champion. Their eyes will look elsewhere now, he
worried. The blond must be taken care of, and soon.

Gildor said nothing else to Erestor about the Elda; he did not know
what to say. That Erestor had obviously slept with their suspect
deeply worried him, and he could not help but think that his Lord's
judgment might be faulty. But he did not question Erestor; they
grimly went about their duties to the victim, the air rife with
tension. 
________________________________________________________________

Erestor sat at his desk, the reports from all three autopsies spread
out before him. He went through them again, studying interviews,
inventories, drawings, over and over, until his eyes burned and his
stomach rolled. There had to be something! He was missing something.
That herb – Nightshade – why would the victims drink it? The latest
crime scene has born the telltale teacup with its purplish stain and
strong, bitter odor. That had to be the missing piece, Erestor knew.
To drink something like that from someone had required a great deal
of trust, their killer had to be someone who could inspire this in
their victims. Knowledge of that particular herb and its side
effects was not something commonplace, but a learned knowledge.

Elrond had that knowledge. All healers did. 

Then there was the victim's race. Why only ellith of Telerin
descent? Erestor could understand a Noldo harboring bitterness, or
if the victims had been Noldorin and the killer sought justice for
the Telerin, but the Telerin were the *victims* of the Kinslayings.
Could the killer be Telerin and have some deep-seated hatred for his
own kind? But why?

Erestor realized that he had no idea of the killer's motives, and he
suspected that he might never. Whatever the killer saw when he
looked into their eyes as he strangled them was something only the
killer could tell them.

Erestor's head slumped down, and he closed his eyes tightly,
fighting the waves of despair that gripped him. Head in hands, he
allowed himself a few moments of self-indulgent introspection.
Finally, Erestor sighed and rose, turning out the oil-lamps before
closing and locking the door behind him. He looked down the vacant
halls.  The hour was late, and he could hear the distant sounds of
thunder as another storm approached – the second in less than a
week. 

Erestor stood indecisively in the deserted corridor. He did not want
to return to his cold, lonely room. Thoughts of the golden Elf who
had held him so tightly and made him feel so safe floated through
his mind, and his feet carried him toward Glorfindel.

For a moment, the empty hall outside Glorfindel's room confused him,
before he remembered that he had dismissed the guard early that
morning. The hall was dim, too quiet, and Erestor felt the hairs on
the back of his neck stand. Erestor moved to Glorfindel's door. He
raised a hand to knock, but for a reason he would never come to
understand even later, he paused. A muffled sound came from the
blond's room and Erestor frowned, wondering why the Elda had company
this late in the evening. 

Erestor started to knock, but the next muffled cry reached him, and
every nerve in his body tingled in alarm. Erestor grasped the door
handle and shoved the door open. His eyes desperately swept the dark
room, too dark for even keen Elven eyesight. He cautiously stepped
inside, eyes frantically trying to adjust to the blackness. 

The storm hit with a fury, and a sudden flash of lightning
brightened the room. Erestor's disbelieving eyes saw one form
standing over another, one clad in dark clothing, his hands wrapped
around the throat of the other, who struggled weakly.  Erestor cried
out and flung himself at the closely locked bodies as the room was
again plunged into darkness. He crashed into both forms, and the
momentum sent all three sprawling to the floor. Erestor heard an
enraged cry from the attacker. Hands clawed at him, reaching for his
throat. Erestor fought wildly to free himself from the strong grip,
stumbling backwards and kicking out blindly at the dark figure. He
heard a grunt as one of his feet connected, and Erestor scrambled to
his feet, his back against the window.

Another flash lit the room, and Erestor saw the face of the
attacker.  The healer. Erestor's mind struggled to recall a name.
"Garafon," he shouted out, but the killer only paused briefly before
charging Erestor again, leaving Glorfindel crumpled and motionless
on the floor.

Erestor scanned the room frantically for some weapon, anything at
all to help him. His eyes flew back to the killer just as Garafon
reached for him. Erestor ducked and spun away, shoving the killer
off balance with his shoulder, hitting his assailant squarely in the
chest. Erestor fell to the floor as the sound of shattering glass
filled the room. He threw his arms across his face for protection as
falling glass pelted his back. Garafon screamed as he plunged
through the broken window. His enraged shriek drifted away as he
fell to the hard courtyard below.

Rain and wind poured into the room, soaking Erestor as he crawled
through the broken glass toward Glorfindel's still form. Lightning
flashed outside, and the loud thunder drowned out the whimpers that
left Erestor's lips as he pulled the blond into his arms.
"Glorfindel!" Erestor shouted over the storm’s fury, his own words
barely audible over the crashing of the thunder. Erestor clutched
the blond tighter against him as his hands flew over the Elda's
body, searching out injuries, mindless of the blood dripping from
his own lacerated palms.

Erestor cried out as the door flew open and light and noise filled
the room. He blinked as he and Glorfindel were thrown in sharp
outline by the torches and lamps that the intruders carried. Erestor
could only blink up owlishly at the sight of Gil-galad, Elrond,
Dórion, and Gildor rushing toward him. They stood over the pair,
their mouths moving, but Erestor could not process what was being
said. He could only growl as hands reached down to take Glorfindel
from his arms, could only struggle as hands reached for him also.

Elrond knelt down and cupped Erestor's face, drawing the panic-
filled eyes of the investigator to his own concerned gray orbs. He
spoke slowly and carefully, repeating himself over and over until
comprehension filled Erestor's dark eyes. Only then did Erestor
allow Elrond to lift Glorfindel's form from his arms, and only then
did he allow himself to be picked up and stood on shaky legs.
Brushing aside the concerned hands and eyes, Erestor moved dazedly
to the broken window. The curtains whipped about him and the wild
wind blew his dark tresses into his face and eyes. Erestor pushed
his hair back, his eyes traveling down to the dark pavement below,
where Garafon’s broken form could barely be made out in the
blackness of the night.



**********
Chapter: 11/11

Erestor closed the last of the leather-bound journals and placed it
in a box alongside numerous others. His eyes tracked the paths of
the various Elves who went about gathering evidence in Garafon's
room, but Erestor's brooding thoughts were on what he had just
finished reading. Gildor carried out a sewing basket, and the object
made Erestor contemplate further what he had read of Garafon's
relationship with his naneth.  

Her name was Nordithen, Erestor learned from the worn books. She was
a Telerin elleth wedded to a Noldorin mate, torn between devotion to
her blood kin in Alqualondë and the duty of her bond with spouse and
child. From what Erestor learned from Garafon's writing, in the end,
she had chosen to forsake the responsibility of motherhood and
devote her allegiance to the peoples of her youth.

Garafon’s journals told heart-breaking tales of a small Elfling who
watched as his Nana left him again and again, often for years at a
time, to make the journey from her home among the Noldor of Tirion
to the peaceful harbors of Swanhaven, preferring to spend time with
her family. Each separation lasted for a greater period, and each
return was greeted with arguments and accusations hurled by her
husband against “that kind”.

Garafon's Ada sounded like a bitter Elf, his mother beautiful but
cold, caring more for jewels and finery than her own offspring.
Erestor could only guess the impact of such an environment on a
small Elfling. That Garafon loved his naneth greatly was evident in
his writings; his description of the Telerin elleth was worshipful,
as though Nordithen was one of the Valier incarnate, but that love
turned to something so ugly, so destructive that it destroyed
Garafon.

Erestor's stomach rolled as he looked down at the scrap of cloth one
of the guards had shown him. Erestor tore his eyes away from the
gruesome discovery, his gaze lifting to the open window, nostrils
flaring as he struggled to catch the scent of fresh air. The hours
he had spent in this room were wearing heavily on him.  His neck
ached, and the wounds on his hands and knees from the broken glass
stung, but he stubbornly refused to allow Gildor and Dórion to take
over... not quite yet. He wanted – no, he *needed* to understand. 

Had the Kinslayings been the turning point for Garafon? The horror
of Elf killing Elf, then the sound of his beloved Nana's voice
denouncing his Ada, his Noldor kin, and then finally himself? Seeing
her run from them, as if her husband and child were personally
responsible for the screams and the blood flowing below them. Once
more, she chose her kin over her own son. 

Had that been the final straw? Garafon had followed after his
naneth, pleading with her to come back, but Nordithen had snapped,
and in blazing anger, had slapped him hard, screaming “murderer” in
his face, hurling epithets of hatred against the Noldor. 

Was that, then, the moment when Garafon's mind turned to shadow? He
had written so dispassionately about how he had placed his hands
around his mother’s throat. How amid the screams and mayhem, no one
noticed as he strangled her to death. He wrote of her beautiful
eyes, and how they stared at him in horror and denial, until finally
their light was extinguished. He confesses that he left her lying
there on the quay, amongst the slain Teleri.

Renouncing his Telerin heritage, Garafon followed his father across
the Ice with Fëanor’s people. The journal entries that followed only
spoke of the typical trials of a youthful Elf, struggling to make a
place in the world. He and his Ada settled in the mountains of Arda
among their Noldorin kin, where Garafon studied the art of healing.
Garafon’s father was slain in a skirmish with Orcs. Eventually
Garafon, orphaned, came to settle in Lindon, and joined Gil-galad’s
staff as a healer. The pages upon pages of neat writing were notable
only for their absence of any further mention of Nordithen. It was
as though Garafon put the memories out of his mind.  Buried them
deeply in his subconscious, more likely, forcibly repressed for many
years, until something happened that set the current events in
motion. 

Erestor rose and wandered toward the open window. He passed the
dresser and stopped, looking down at the mortar, pestle, and the
small phial of Nightshade. The journals told how the first two
ellith sought out a healer for various reasons. The first had a
backache, and the second victim had trouble sleeping. Each of the
victims placed their trust in Garafon, confided in him, shared woes
and histories.  Bound, or so they thought, by common blood, and
without question accepted the tonic he prepared for them. But it was
odd that nothing in any of the papers Erestor found made a reference
to the third victim, the visiting elleth from Lórien. There was no
indication how or why Garafon targeted Arvellas.  

But it had started with Brennil. Garafon had feelings for her, had
approached her, and had been rejected. Brennil’s resemblance to the
sketches of Garafon’s naneth was uncanny.  Erestor could only induce
that had been the stressor that had brought all Garafon’s suppressed
fury to the surface. One more Telerin elleth rejecting him, just
like his mother had, time and time again.  

Gildor’s inspection of the chambers revealed two formal gowns
wrapped in white linen, hidden away in a niche of Garafon’s closet.
The gowns resembled the style of the robes the victims were dressed
in when their bodies were found. The younger Noldo was excited by
the discovery and immediately dispatched one of Gil-galad’s guards
to begin questioning Lindon’s dressmakers, but Erestor knew in his
heart that the search would be futile. It was unlikely the origins
of the gowns would ever be known – another question left unanswered.

Erestor turned away from the window, his eyes falling on the ghastly
remnants of two pairs of blue eyes. The searchers had discovered the
remains hidden in a wooden box next to the journals. The missing
third set had caused some confusion – that was, until the cloth with
its macabre residue of tissue and jelly was found. Erestor could
only guess that Garafon, like many others was superstitious. Did he
believe, in his madness, that the eyes – the windows of the soul –
captured the last vision they saw before death, retained it,
recording their killer? Was recognition what Garafon had finally
seen in his naneth’s eyes, before she died? Garafon would have
wanted to hold on to that, something he had felt she denied him all
his life. But definite answers could never be found; they died along
with Garafon on the cold, wet pavement.

It was time to leave this room. Erestor felt dirty, contaminated by
the anger that still could be felt, the shadow of evil that hung in
the room, which even the freshest air from the open window could not
dispel. He left the others to their inventories. 

Gildor fell into step next to him as Erestor headed through the
quiet halls to the healing wing. It had only been through sheer will
that he had left Glorfindel’s side in the early hours of the
morning. The Elda had not awakened yet from his poisoning, though
Elrond assured Erestor that he would in due course, once his body
recovered from the trauma.  

Gildor glanced with concern at Erestor’s pale face. Gently, he
fingered the scratches on the older Elf’s throat. “Are you all
right, Erestor?”

Erestor gave Gildor a tight-lipped smile and shook his head, not
trusting his voice. No, he was not all right. He would not be all
right, not until Glorfindel awoke. 

The rest of the walk was made in silence, as Gildor stayed by his
superior’s side. He could see how very worried Erestor was about the
blond. It had amazed him to discover Erestor almost crazed,
clutching Glorfindel’s limp form as though someone was trying to
tear the Elda from Erestor’s arms. Gildor had never seen Erestor so
possessive or so enthralled over another Elf. With only a small bit
of residual hurt, he acknowledged that included him. 

They stopped at the door way to Glorfindel’s room, watching through
the open portal as Elrond checked the Elda’s condition once more.
Erestor waited until Elrond rose and joined them in the doorway
before speaking. “Any change?” he whispered, his eyes roving over
the still form with its bandaged throat and eyes glazed unseeingly
at the ceiling.

Elrond smiled kindly and laid a reassuring hand on Erestor’s arm.
“The effects of the drug are wearing off. He should wake soon,
Erestor.” Elrond sighed, and the smile left his face. “I feel
responsible for this,” the half-Elf confessed.

Erestor reluctantly tore his gaze away from the sleeping blond. He
frowned at Elrond. “Responsible, how?” he asked.

Elrond looked guiltily toward the bed, his gray eyes soft and sad.
“I instructed Garafon to prepare a sleeping tonic for Glorfindel.”

“Did you order him to deliver it?” Gildor asked, and Erestor nodded
with a brief, proud smile at his apprentice.

Elrond shook his head. “No, I did not. But if he went to Glorfindel
and told him it was the tonic I promised that would help to rid him
of nightmares, it would make sense that Glorfindel would have
trusted him, and taken the potion. Of course, Glorfindel would not
know the concoction did not contain a mild sleeping herb, but the
deadly Nightshade instead.” Elrond sighed heavily and rubbed a hand
across his weary face. “I must go and report to the King. Please
inform me when Glorfindel wakes.” Elrond left Gildor and Erestor
alone, both looking at the sleeping Elda, but the gaze of one was
strained with much more than simple concern.

Gildor glanced once at Erestor’s face, seeing clearly written in the
drawn features the desire to be alone with the Elda. He briefly
squeezed Erestor’s shoulder.  Erestor gave the younger Elf a wan
smile of gratitude before he too left the pair alone and pulled the
door closed behind him.

Erestor pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down next to
Glorfindel. He picked up one of the blond’s hands, holding it
tightly clasped between his own bandaged palms. Placing a lingering
kiss across Glorfindel’s knuckles, Erestor waited in silence for the
blond to wake. 

The candles had long burned down to stubs when Erestor was roused
from an uneasy doze by the faint rustle of sheets shifting on the
bed. He glanced down into Glorfindel’s blue eyes, which were no
longer clouded by sleep. “You are awake,” Erestor whispered in
relief, unable to keep the emotion from his voice. He squeezed the
blond’s hand tighter and fought back the prickle of tears that
threatened to fall.

Glorfindel blinked at Erestor, awake but still groggy from the
remnants of poisoning and his deep, restorative sleep and trying to
process all that had happened to him. His gaze became panicky and
his breathing sped up as he tried to rise, his head thrashing as he
frantically scanned the room. Erestor knew what the Elda was
searching for, and he gently urged Glorfindel to lie back down. “It
is all right now, “ he whispered, running a soothing hand through
Glorfindel’s tawny hair. “He is dead, Glorfindel.  He cannot hurt
you again.”

Glorfindel searched Erestor’s dark eyes and saw the truth. He felt
safe as the raven-haired Elf gathered him into an embrace. He hugged
Erestor back as tightly as his weary body would allow. “Thank you,“
Glorfindel murmured hoarsely into Erestor’s ear.

“Do not try to speak,” Erestor admonished. “Your vocal cords are
damaged; you must rest your voice.” He smiled gently and pulled
away, placing a kiss upon Glorfindel’s lips. He looked deep into
those vulnerable, expressive blue eyes, eyes that had captured his
soul. 

“I had no choice,” he whispered. “When I saw *his* hands about your
throat and saw you crumple lifeless to the floor, I thought my heart
would stop. I do not pretend to comprehend all that has ensued,
least of all what has happened between us. These feelings are new
and frightening to me. But what I do know is that if Mandos had
claimed you once more, I would have followed.”

The End.